


Where Preparation and Opportunity Meet

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Foot Chase, M/M, Mistaken Identity, when in rome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9705392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Eames is trying to lose a tail when a dapper young man mistakes him for his blind date and is taken on a whirlwind adventure.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dremiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dremiel/gifts).



> For dremiel, whose prompt was: Bluff. Happy Valentine's Day, I hope you enjoy the fic!!!<3<3<3

To be fair, it’s all Arthur’s fault.

 

Eames is just minding his own business, cutting through a busy outdoor restaurant while evading the two rather startlingly large goons employed by the man he’d just cheated out of six figures in a backroom poker game, when he’s distracted by warm brown eyes and an eager, dimpled smile.

 

Eames quickly checks over his shoulder, but there’s no one behind him who might be the intended recipient of that dazzling grin. The man attached to the smile steps forward, and  _ oh _ , the rest of him is just as lovely. Eames has no idea what he’s done to deserve this reception, but he’s awfully glad he did it.

 

“Jamie?” the man asks with a hopeful air.

 

Behind him, he can hear the hostess refusing the goons entry due to their lack of dinner jackets, so he does the only thing he can.

 

“Yes, that’s me,” he smiles charmingly and accepts the man’s hand, adapting quickly and picking his pocket when he’s pulled into a loose hug. 

 

“Sit, please,” the man, Arthur, according to a glance at his driver’s license, says. “Sorry if I seem a bit nervous.”

 

Eames chuckles and drinks deeply from the water glass in front of him. He’s been trying to shake the goons for the better part of an hour and two months of bluffing his way into the lives of the rich and famous has made him lazy.

 

“You just never know how these things are going to go, you know?” Arthur’s smile turns shy as he fiddles with his cutlery. “Not that I do this often or anything. But, well, you’re definitely a pleasant surprise. Younger than I imagined.”

 

“Am I now?” Eames laughs, turning his face away when he catches sight of the goons on the other side of the restaurant’s barrier, searching the tables. He ditched his overcoat and the glasses he’d been wearing, but one can never be too careful when running from hired muscle with untraceable firearms hidden on their person.

 

“Oh my god, I’m embarrassing myself. I’m so sorry. I swear, I’m not usually this nervous.” Arthur drags his palm over his mouth and his ears have gone pink. Altogether, Eames finds it charming.

 

“No, no, it’s fine,” he assures Arthur. “I never tire of compliments. For the record, you are quite the pleasant surprise yourself.”

 

Arthur smiles and looks away, his whole face aflame now. “Thank you.”

 

The waiter appears and Arthur surprises Eames by leaning across the table and grabbing his wrist. “Do you want to get out of here?”

 

Eames is only thrown for a moment, then he’s turning his hand under Arthur’s grasp and squeezing firmly. “Absolutely.”

 

He follows Arthur’s quick pace out of the restaurant and into the crowded piazza, taking the opportunity to bump into him and slide the wallet back into place. He takes Arthur lightly by the hips and presses up behind him. “Where are you taking me, darling?”

 

Arthur goes still for a moment, the relaxes into him with a laugh. “I have no idea.”

 

“Allow me.” Eames takes his hand and leads him through the piazza and over the bridge to the Isola Tiberina where the Basilica di San Bartolomeo looms over the river in the dark. They’re not quite running, but Eames’ pace is aimed at discouraging conversation while he keeps a watchful eye on their flank for the goons. 

 

It’s not the best idea, but he’s not the kind of man to turn down the opportunity to spend time with someone as lovely as Arthur, and he’s seventy percent sure he’s shaken his search party.

 

“I don’t think it’s open this late,” Arthur says, running a hand up Eames’ arm.

 

“Are you afraid of a little adventure, Arthur?”

 

Arthur’s eyes flash, dark and dangerous in the moonlight, but then he smiles and they’re back to being warm and bright. “Lead the way.”

 

Eames wants to kiss him then, on the steps of the Basilica, in the heat of the Italian summer. Wants to taste his wide mouth and feel the firm muscle he’s confident is lurking beneath Arthur’s crisp lines. This man who’s put his life in Eames’ hands so quickly, so easily. But before he can claim Arthur’s sweetness, he spies the goons on the bridge, running in their direction.

 

He curses quietly and pushes Arthur up the stairs. “Hurry along, then.”

 

He kicks the door stops out as they go through, and they clang closed as he leads Arthur towards the altar. The church is empty, but there’s bound to be security somewhere on site. They just need to keep out of sight long enough for the goons and the nice, trained men with the legal weapons to meet.

 

Their footsteps are loud on the marble floor, echoing through the empty cavern of the room. Arthur slows down to admire the ornate columns and the gold trim on the arches. He nearly bends over backwards when he catches sight of the incredible artwork on the ceiling of the nave, but Eames grabs his arm and shoves him up the stairs of the altar. 

 

“Sanctuary,” Arthur whispers, grinning.

 

“What?” Eames asks, listening for anyone approaching. They’re out in the open here and he knows it won’t be long before they’re found. They need to keep moving.

 

“This is the sanctuary. We can’t be arrested here.” There’s a wicked tilt to Arthur’s smile and it distracts Eames for a moment.

 

“I’m not sure that still applies, darling.”

 

Arthur shrugs and pulls Eames in by the belt loops. “We can pretend, can’t we?”

 

The front door creaks open and they both turn toward the sound.

 

“Someone’s coming,” Arthur whispers before sliding away.

 

Eames curses and turns back to Arthur, only to find him creeping up the twisting staircase of the pulpit. “Arthur, no!”

 

But it’s too late. Arthur’s too far up and the goons are inching through the doors. He doesn’t have time to retrieve his wayward companion and make it to safety before they’re spotted. He has no choice but to follow him up and pray the goons don’t think he’s as stupid as he’s proving to be.

 

Arthur’s waiting for him with a cheeky smile when he reaches the pulpit. He’s leaning against the carved wood, his head not quite clearing the tall sides. There are three stairs up to the lectern, but if they stay where they are and stay quiet, they have a shot at going undetected.

 

“You’re not Catholic, are you?” Arthur whispers and Eames presses his hand over Arthur’s mouth, giving him a look of warning.

 

He can hear the men below searching the pews, and the church is big, but it won’t take them long to reach the front. If they hear Arthur and Eames they’ll be trapped. Forced to surrender or face being shot, and Eames had just been trying to avoid all of this when Arthur interrupted him with his smile and his eyes and his goddamn eager innocence.

 

He startles when Arthur licks his palm and Arthur takes the opportunity to duck under Eames’ hand and kiss him, heated and slick. His teeth catch on Eames’ bottom lip, and just as Eames is getting over his shock, Arthur is pulling away and dropping to his knees, tugging open Eames’ pants with one hand while the other pushes up his shirt.

 

Eames makes a high, breathy noise when Arthur gets his mouth on him, then he’s shoving the meaty base of his thumb in his mouth to stifle a whine as blood rushes to his cock so fast he nearly falls over.

 

Eames’ eyes rolls back when Arthur sucks hard and his head thunks against the wood. Teeth graze his shaft and he hisses around his hand and Arthur stares up at him, one eyebrow raised as he drags his teeth to the crown and sucks his way back down, engulfing Eames in heat and wet, and  _ oh fuck _ , he’s not going to last long like this.

 

The goons are nearing the altar, their steps heavy and hurried on the polished floor and Arthur pulls off to press his finger to his swollen lips. Eames nods, sweat beading on his brow, and Arthur gets back to work, taking Eames in inch by inch, his dark head bobbing studiously until he’s pinning Eames’ hips to the wall and swallowing around him.

 

Angry, whispered Italian floats up to them and Arthur pauses briefly before doubling his efforts, and while Eames admires his work ethic, he slides his hand to the holster at the small of his back, just in case they’re interrupted. 

 

Arthur slurps quietly and his fingers dig into Eames’ hips. Eames holds back a groan and wonders, briefly, how he ever stumbled into the creature currently on his knees, taking him apart in record time. He curves his hand around the back of Arthur’s head as the stairs creak. Arthur huffs a breath out of his nose and curls his fingers around the base to keep it steady as he plunges on. Eames gasps as his cock throbs, and flicks the safety off.

 

He rubs his thumb over Arthur’s ear and Arthur swirls his tongue, making Eames see stars. The footsteps on the stairs are growing closer, but Arthur hums around him and tugs him closer by the hip, and Eames is coming, nearly choking on his own spit as he floods Arthur’s mouth with come. 

 

He’s gasping and blinking sweat out of his eyes, and he’s certain they’ll be found at any minute, but Arthur just calmly tucks him back into his pants and sits back on his heels, grinning up at him and panting. There’s another creak, much closer than before, but before Eames can pull his gun, there’s a shout from below and the goon on the stairs is stomping back down and calling to his partner. 

 

Eames sneaks a peak over the edge of the wall to see three security guards running through the nave and after the goons. Arthur pops up beside him, laughing silently at their luck. They wait until the men below have passed and tiptoe down the stairs and out the side door, setting off an alarm. Sirens are blaring in the distance, no doubt heading this way, and Eames takes Arthur’s hand and runs for the Ponte Fabricio. Gunshots ring out somewhere behind them, but the bridge leads them to the other side of the river and when no one follows, Eames allows himself to glance over at Arthur.

 

His eyes are bright and his colour is high, and when he sees Eames watching him, he laughs. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.”

 

“You’re insane,” Eames says wonderingly.

 

Arthur laughs again, and pulls him along, up the Via de Foro Olitorio and through the Piazza Venezia. They’re at the stairs of the Via Magnanapoli when Eames realizes they’re almost at his hotel. He stops and pulls his hand out of Arthur’s.

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

Arthur slips his hands in his pockets and smirks. “I think I should be asking you that question,  _ Jaime _ .”

 

Eames darts his gaze around the alley. They’re alone here and he has his gun, but the noise of a gunshot would invite too much attention of the people in the buildings around them. 

 

“Calm down, I’m serious,” Arthur says, leaning against the wall. “I honestly thought you were my date at first.”

 

“When did you realize I wasn’t?” Eames asks, watching Arthur closely.

 

“About the time I noticed two large men with gun following us through the piazza. Who were they, by the way?”

 

“Would you believe me if I told you I was wrongfully accused?”

 

“No,” Arthur chuckles. “I wouldn’t. Does it have anything to do with this?” Arthur asks, pulling Eames’ billfold, thick with euros from the inside of his jacket pocket.

 

Eames’ hand flies to his own pocket, where a stack of folded maps is nestled where his wallet should be. “How the fuck?”

 

“You’re woefully distractible when your dick is out.” Arthur tells him, holding out the billfold.

 

Eames eyes it critically, unsure of the move he’s expected to make. Arthur is clearly more than he appears, but he’s still not certain just how dangerous the man is. Arthur shakes the billfold and Eames reaches out carefully.

 

“And even knowing we were being chased, that I wasn’t who I claimed to be, you still...did that.”

 

“What can I say?” Arthur gives him another lazy shrug, a smile dancing on his lips. “I like a shiny package.”

 

Eames’ eyebrows shoot up. “Is that what I am?”

 

“I certainly hope it’s not  _ all _ you are.”

 

“What do you want from me?” Eames asks, tucking the billfold back into his pocket and patting down the rest of his belongings, making sure Arthur hasn’t absconded with anything else.

 

“I have a job offer for you.” Arthur pushes off the wall, stepping closer.

 

“I have a job.” Eames says stiffly.

 

“Scamming weak-minded businessmen with hired muscle isn’t a job, it’s a lark. I can offer you a way to make a name for yourself. A future that doesn’t end on the wrong side of a gun.”

 

“The right end of one, then?” Eames asks, holding his breath as Arthur stops in front of him and smirks.

 

“Not if you stick with me.”

 

“Just what is this job then?” Eames asks, shivering involuntarily as Arthur’s hand curves over his side.

 

“It’s beyond your wildest dreams, I promise.” Arthur kisses him, soft and slow, and again, before Eames can get his feet under him, Arthur’s pulling away. He slips a card into Eames’ jacket pocket, tapping it into place with his finger. “Be there tomorrow, seven a.m. sharp.”

 

Arthur steps away and starts back the way they came, as though this had just been a pleasant conversation between friends. It irks Eames, that he’s been left with more questions than answers, and he can’t help but try for the last word.

 

“Seven is too early for me; it wasn’t that good blow job,” he calls after Arthur.

 

He sees the curve of Arthur’s smile as he glances over his shoulder. “Don’t keep me waiting, Mr. Eames.”

  
  



End file.
